


decide on me, decide on us

by TheSushiMonster



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Past Abuse, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 02:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18791398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: Something’s different.She’s different too.Finally she answers, with the truth buried so deep she doesn’t recognize it until it leaves her lips: “I don’t want to stay here.”Theon grins - so familiar, so much like before - and Sansa can’t help but return it.“You wanna take a road trip?”





	decide on me, decide on us

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. This is my first real fic since.... October of 2017? So a long time. Of course I get inspired by a ship that dies in the next episode. Shout-out to Annie for pushing me into this ship.

  


 

 ****One month until the end of her freshman year of college and Sansa still doesn’t have any plans for the summer.

She doesn’t have plans for much of anything, really - the current day, the next week, the summer, her life - but as she sits in a diner right on the outskirts of campus, she tries to make a plan for the summer, at the very least.

The diner is relatively busy, given it’s almost lunch hour. Her laptop remains open to her schedule for the next semester, but the tab with her resume glares back at her too.

She’d rather look at the chaos than a blank page.

The waitress places her strawberry milkshake on the table and Sansa smiles at her. Smiling feels natural, which is nice; but it falters when her phone lights up with the unknown number she’s started to recognize. Without thinking about it, she flips the screen over.

And when she looks up, the once-empty seat in front of her is suddenly occupied.

“Theon?”

Theon Greyjoy is not an unpleasant sight altogether, but when he leans on the table, his jaw tightens. His serious face gnaws at her chest.

“Are you going home - to see Robb this summer? Or are you staying here?”

Sansa frowns at his arupt question. She sees Theon around campus, but their majors are wildly different - him, business and her… everything but business. They share no classes and only very few friends; she’s run into him at a party or two, but they don’t hang out.

Not like they used to.

 _Before_ \- before college when Theon was her big brother’s best friend, the stray who stayed for dinner and many nights, especially when his eye was swollen or his wrists bruised. Before her ex-boyfriend and her isolation, when she thought relationships and romance meant dropping friendships and hobbies. Before, when there wasn’t pressure building between her temples at the thought of the future, and life, and how her heart seemed to be perpetually flickering in a state of panic.

Theon looks good, she notes. His hair is long and curly, but tamed. The last time she saw him - the night of her break-up, at the party where he caught her eye and replaced her cup with one of water before pouring out the mixed drink into the bushes - his eyes were red and his beard unkempt. Now his scruff is groomed and his eyes a clear blue and while he isn’t smiling, there’s a lightness in his shoulders.

Something’s different.

She’s different too.

Finally she answers, with the truth buried so deep she doesn’t recognize it until it leaves her lips: “I don’t want to stay here.”

Theon grins - so familiar, so much like _before_ \- and Sansa can’t help but return it.

“You wanna take a road trip?”

* * *

Classes end on a Friday, finals two weeks later, and Theon graduates quietly on a Sunday. There is no family cheering for him; just a phone-call from his sister Yara, a facetime with the Starks (they talked all over each other; Theon has no idea who promised to buy him dinner when he saw them next), and Sansa.

Sansa, who has her luggage packed up in his car and hugs him tightly. “Congratulations, Graduate.”

Fighting back embarrassment, Theon just shakes his head.

Sansa just smiles and hugs him harder. When she lets go, Theon imagines he matches her hair.

Together, they pile into his truck and drive.

* * *

The mountains are beautiful that day, with no clouds and only a moderate sun. They pull over just a few hours into the drive, once the air has started to cool, but the sky is still bright.

“Wow.” Sansa grasps the railing, leaning into the empty space between the road and the next mountain. They parked on the gravel, pieces already creeping into Theon’s boots, but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind when Sansa tilts her head back and the loose curls that have escaped her braid fly in the breeze.

He wants to take a picture of it.

So he does.

Sansa whips around at the sound of the camera shutter. “What was that for?” Just smiling, Theon shows her. “Oh,” she says, surprised at how beautiful she looks. She shouldn’t be surprised, Theon thinks, since she’s always been that way.

To him, at least.

Sansa pulls out her own phone, spinning around and turning the camera back at herself, arm outstretched. After taking several selfies of her own, from different angles and with different smiles - all sincere and heartfelt - she gestures at him. “Get over here.”

Theon hesitates - he rarely takes pictures, of himself or otherwise, but he knows Sansa likes to post them on social media. He doesn’t _mind_ having a presence, not really, but still - he hesitates.

Sansa’s arm drop slightly. “If you don’t want me to post it - ”

It’s her immediate recognition of his internal struggle that allows the words to escape his mouth. “No, it’s fine. I’m just not very photogenic.”

“You used to love the camera.” She doesn’t look at him when she says this, instead adjusting the screen to capture both of them. “Before.”

 _Before_.

Before leaving home - the one with Robb and Sansa and the Starks, the one where he spent most of his childhood, straight from school, through dinner, and into the exhausted nights. Before losing control over his future, of his career and choices. Before _home_ became four walls to escape an existence of just breathing, eating, sleeping… _before_.

But Sansa represents a future, he thinks. Because she’s here, with him, a companion in this weird fucked-up journey. It’s not planned, it’s not scheduled; it is what it is, and whatever it is, Theon enjoys spending the time with _her_.

So he steps beside her, his arm easily wrapping around her shoulders, and smiles. And Sansa leans into him further, her head on his shoulder and the trees framing their faces.

“Can I post that one?” she asks, staring him dead in the eye. Theon nods, just barely smiling, because he understands.

He wants to hold on to the moment too.

He turns back to the view.

As Sansa scrolls through her phone, likely posting her favorite pictures, it vibrates in her hand. It’s quiet there, just the two of them and the vast expanse of nature, but he can hear her frown. Glancing over at her, she bites her lip, reading whatever message she had received. Not pleased, clearly, but Theon admires her against the light blue fog and bright green trees. She’s a contrast; bright but steady, at peace but sad. Like she’s surviving, piece by piece, moment by moment, by embracing her sadness - even when the world tells her she should smile.

Somehow, he admires her more for that.

* * *

The tire bursts about an hour later.

The sun is preparing set, but there’s still plenty of light as Theon squats down to inspect the damage. Sansa stands behind him. “You know how to change a spare?”

Theon says nothing. Sansa takes that as her answer.

Trying his best to recall those long ago lessons on how to change a tire during driver’s ed, he pulls out the spare from the trunk. As he dumps it on the ground, Sansa walks further up the road. She’s staring at her phone and frowning. Theon should be looking for tools to loosen the lug nuts, but he’s looking at Sansa instead; she pockets her phone and takes in a deep breath.

And that’s when a car pulls over, and Sansa - brillant, gentle, mischievous Sansa - flips her hair into the sunlight and smiles widely.

A father and a son exit their cars and happily begin to help, minor jokes at his expense.

But Theon watches _her,_ with her slight smile and bright hair glittering. There’s sweat on the back of his neck but she’s laughing and beautiful and the strangers are charmed.

He’s charmed.

She’s impressive.

* * *

Since they skipped lunch, they stop at a diner for an early dinner.

Sansa orders fries, an omelette, and a strawberry milkshake. Theon wants a burger, more fries, and a coke. The waiter has only just left when her phone starts dancing on the table.

Sansa quickly silences it, but Theon just looks at her. She shifts in her seat. “Whoever keeps texting you makes you uncomfortable,” he says quietly. His eyes flicker between her face and her shoulder. “You should block them.”

The wall erected in her ribs stretches, expands to cover all her bones. She sits taller. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says, voice clipped. “How’s working for dear old dad?” she says, changing the subject not-at-all smoothly.

Theon frowns, his shoulders falling. “Fine. Haven’t started yet. He paid for tuition so now I owe him. Figured I’d pay off my debt by working for him.”

The idea doesn’t sit well with Sansa, who can still remember Theon escaping to their house, looking miserable and small. The same misery he tries to hide now.

The waiter returns with their drinks. As Sansa takes a long pull of her milkshake, she measures her words. “You shouldn’t feel like you owe something to your family. That’s not how family should work.”

His eyes narrow. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, his words an empty echo. He gulps down half his soda.

Sansa looks down and silence reigns.

When the waiter returns with their food, they eat in silence too.

Until: “Is it the same asshole from that night?” Theon stuffs a fry into his mouth.

Sansa cuts her omelette sharply. “Yes.”

“I thought you guys broke up.”

“We did.”

“Huh.”

More silence.

And then: “Do you even want to go into business? Or is that just want your dad wanted?” Sansa stirs her milkshake before drinking more.

Theon’s jaw tightens and loosens in quick succession. “I’m good at it. It makes sense to me.”

“That didn’t answer the question.”

And Theon drops his burger back onto his plate to lean forward on table, balancing on his elbows. “You know that feeling when you move away from the only place you’ve ever called home? When you have to stay with the only people you know because otherwise you’d be all alone - not alone, but _lonely_ because no one cares about the new guy who can barely carry a full conversation.” Theon leans back, his eyes flashing like thunder. “It feels like drowning.”

Sansa swallows. “Like suffocating.”

Theon nods, but his face is still sharp. There’s a tension in his shoulders, a vulnerability mixed with defeat. Sansa _hates_ it - she wants to wrap her arms around him and shake him all at the same time. He breaks another fry in half. “Breathing on life support is better than not breathing at all.” Looking away, out the window, he chews.

Her chest aches, especially when she looks back at her empty plate. She may be lost, but she’s free to wander, to trip and fall and get back up again. Theon’s trapped in a pitch-black room with an open door, but with no flashlight to see the way out.

They split the bill and Sansa ignores her phone still vibrating in her hand.

* * *

The sun has set but the humidity builds in the car. As they speed down the highway towards a motel to stop for the night, Theon finally rolls down the windows.

Feet up on the seat, knees curled into her chest, Sansa leans back as her hair begins to whip around. Red strands fly around her face and Theon doesn’t need to look at her to know she’s glowing.

“I’m sorry,” she says, layers of hair wrapped around her wrist. There are still wisps of hair dancing in the wind but Sansa ignores those; her eyes are on him - he can _feel_ the intensity, the vulnerability. “You’re right. I should block him. I just - ”

“It’s hard.” Theon keeps his eyes forward and shifts in his seat, sitting straighter. The pit in his stomach grows a bit harder. “It’s hard to let go when you feel like they’re all you have left.”

A heartbeat, a moment - and then -

“You have me, you know.”

Theon doesn’t know that, not really, but he drops his hand from the steering wheel anyway, let’s it sit on the console. Sansa takes it without hesitation, lacing their fingers together. Strings hanging together, weaved and tangled, no end or beginning, just a connection that just _is_ \- it _is_ a moment, it _is_ comfortable, it _is_ like hanging off the edge of cliff without a rope or anyone to hold you back. Just rocks and air and gravity, pulling you deeper, further… it’s an _after_.

“You have me too.”

Sansa lifts his hand and pulls it towards her chest. She holds it the rest of the way.

* * *

They reach the motel just as Sansa tries to hide her yawn in her sleeve. Theon glances at her when - of course - there is only one room available, but she doesn’t argue. Maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s the practically of their finances - or maybe it’s the thought of having Theon remain close.

Once in the room, Sansa escapes to the restroom to shower and change. Washing away the day - the rush of graduation, the beauty of the mountains, the stress of a flat tire, the pain of Theon’s words, and the relief in his understanding - Sansa feels lighter once she steps back into the room.

Theon has set up a makeshift bed on the floor with blankets and pillows. Frowning, Sansa opens her mouth to question him - but her phone lights up on the dresser. Without bothering to check the messages, she shuts the phone off completely.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” Nervously, she crosses her arms over her chest. “We can share the bed - it’s pretty big.”

It’s not, but Sansa is anything if not polite. Theon shouldn’t sleep on the floor after driving all day.

Theon shrugs. “I have night terrors,” he confesses casually as if it’s nothing. At her frown, he smiles sadly. “I don’t want to wake you in the middle of the night. Or - ” He swallows, a flash of something darker in his eyes that makes Sansa hug herself tighter. “I think it’s better I stay on the floor.”

Sansa says nothing, stomach turning over in a mixture of sympathy and fear. She wants to know more - to know everything - but until he’s ready, she just wants to hug him.

Instead, she crawls into the cold bed. The motel isn’t too far from the main highway, so she can hear the cars rushing down the street and voices every now and then from outside the door. Eventually, she concentrates on blocking out the noises and steadying her rapidly beating heart. She chooses to focus on the bumps on the gray ceiling, counting each of Theon’s breaths until her eyes feel heavy and she falls asleep.

 

 

 

In the middle of the night, Theon wakes suddenly. His heart races - but the familiar terror that blankets him at night is missing. He’s not in a closet, or in the backyard; there are no broken jaws or bruises blooming on his skin. There are no sharper blows aimed directly to his heart, to his soul, their only purpose to cut away at his weaknesses until only cold armor remains.

Instead, a momentary panic dissolves at the sight of Sansa curled up on the floor right beside him.

“Sansa,” he whispers into the night. She stirs, but keeps her eyes closed; sighing, he gently nudges her. “Sansa, you should get back in bed.”

Her eyes open but her face is sad. “Sorry. Sometimes I just like to know - that - ” her voice catches on something - or maybe nothing - and the end of her sentence disappears into the darkness.

“It’s okay.”

Theon helps her back to her bed, carrying the blanket and pillow that had fallen into his. Lifting the blankets over her, he moves to return to the floor, but Sansa grabs his wrist.

Her hand - smooth, strong, gentle - feels so light against the blisters and cracks of his. But when she tugs again, he stills. “Stay.” Her whisper is so quiet, but her words vibrate through his chest. A moment - a thought, a hesitation - but her skin is soft and her voice so vulnerable, he truly has no choice.

So Theon lies down on his back beside her on the opposite side of the bed, her hand still in his. He watches the shadows dance across the ceiling.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, eventually, when sleep crawls into the corner of his eyes again. Her hand is so warm.

“Do you?” she asks instead. Her fingers curl against his. He squeezes.

“Not tonight.”

* * *

Sansa orders a strawberry milkshake to go along with her meal and Theon smiles when she leans over to take a sip, her hair and the shake clashing violently. It’s a beautiful picture.

Looking thoughtful, Sansa explores the menu. She doesn’t meet his eyes when she speaks. “In September, my roommate was almost raped.”

Theon looks up.

“She brought home a guy from a party - I hadn’t been feeling up to it, so I had stayed back. I think she was too drunk or - ” her voice stalls, a tiny crack, “drugged. She didn’t remember that I was there, so they burst into the room...”

Theon puts down the menu. Sansa does too, but she stares off into the window beside their booth. “She was completely out of it. Could barely speak, she was slurring so much. But the - he - ” Her eyes flicker to him for a brief moment before returning to seeing nothing outside. “When I heard him try to unzip her dress, I yelled at him to get out.”

“Did you scare him?”

Sansa nods. “Surprised him enough that he just dropped her and ran. I never really got a good look at the guy, other than…. He was tall and had dark hair.” Her laugh is scratchy, bitter. “Descriptive.”

Theon leans forward. “You saved her.”

“If I hadn’t been there - ”

“But you were.”

Sansa finally looks at him. They breath, in sync, for several moments and he refuses to look away. Her cloudy eyes clear slowly, brightening bit by bit, the sun peaking out. She sits taller. “But I was.” She falls a bit when she shrugs, however. “And now I never like to sleep alone.”

Theon tilts his head, ignoring the way his stomach churns. “Is that why you dated him for so long?”

Sansa says nothing and he supposes that’s answer enough.

“Promise me something?” he asks. Sansa raises an eyebrow and Theon feels like his heart is in his head, pounding louder. “Tell me. If you’re ever scared.”

Sansa rolls her eyes, smiling. “I don’t think I could be scared with you around,” she teases.

But Theon frowns, leaning forward, elbows on the table and shaking hands gripping his own biceps tightly. “No, Sansa.” His voice cracks slightly on the weight of her furrowed eyebrows and confusion. “If - if I ever - if you’re ever scared - if I ever do something - “

“Stop that.” Her hands land on the table, eyes locked with his. “I trust you.”

“Why?”

“You’re Theon.”

That doesn’t make sense to him - but there’s no real response to _that_. So instead, he sags into his seat. After a moment of studying the menus, he sighs. “Dad never really hit me. Not physically, at least.” When Sansa frowns in confusion, Theon lifts his coke to his lips and takes a long drink. “It was my brothers.”

“You had brothers?” Theon nods. “What happened to them?”

“They died,” he says flatly. Maybe he should feel more emotion for them. But he never did. He’s only ever felt grateful - until his father started resenting him. “Car accident.” Sansa opens her mouth and Theon shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”

Sansa stays silent, just watching him.

“Dad never forgave me for it, even if I had nothing to do with the accident. But I was - I _am_ the last son he has. The heir.” His bitter laugh feels sharp in his throat. “I wasn’t what he signed up for. Too weak, too soft, too…”

“Not enough.” Sansa’s face transforms from air to fire. “You are enough, Theon. You’re _more_ than enough.”

Theon doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how to.

So he keeps his head down and orders a burger and fries, trying to ignore the pleasant warmth in his chest.

* * *

“Let’s get tattoos.”

Theon almost crashes into the car in front of them. “What?”

“Let’s get tattoos,” Sansa says again, studying the skin on her wrist. “I’ve always wanted to.”

Shifting in his seat, Theon regrips the steering wheel. “I’ve only ever gotten the one. When drunk. With Robb.”

“The one on your arm? Looks kind of like a squid.”

“It’s a kraken. Family thing.”

“It suits you.”

At the next town, they find a tattoo parlor. Sansa leaves with the outline of a wolf on her ribs and Theon tries not to imagine the image on her skin.

He fails.

* * *

At a gas station, Sansa stares at the chips for a long time. She feels Theon come up beside her.

“What do you want?”

What a question, she thinks to herself, the BBQ chips in her hand not quite as appealing as the salt and vinegar ones still on the shelf. But her heart thumps loudly; Theon is so close, she can smell the beach and salt and she wants to eat _that_ , honestly.

Instead, she shakes her head. “I think I need something sweet instead.”

* * *

They stop for dinner at a bar on the outskirts of a city a few hours away from Robb’s. It’s right next to a motel on the beach and Theon tells her they’ll have to wake up early enough to catch the sunrise.

Sansa grabs a seat at the bar and Theon scoots his chair close to her, thighs touching.

“They have strawberry milkshakes,” he says as he studies the menu. Sansa stares at him, startled that he noticed her favorite drink. “You want one?”

Sansa nods.

So they order and they eat and they talk and it’s easy. It’s easy and nice and fun and Sansa feels herself grow warmer and bolder despite being completely sober. Theon smiles more, laughs more, touches her more - tiny touches, like her knee, her shoulder, her hair…

Her hand. They hold hands now as she leads him onto the dance floor. Theon protests, but barely, and Sansa grins when he sighs, but pulls her close, holding her waist.

The song isn’t fast, but it isn’t slow either. It feels sensual - a steady beat, a rhythm that vibrates between them. Theon’s hands feel warm on her. Her fingers play with the hair on his neck. Their chests are so close - Sansa knows Theon is attractive, she’s always known _that_ , but in this moment…

He feels strong with his broad chest and firm arms; he feels gentle, his thumbs caressing the skin of her hips; he feels like -

Possibility.

As they dance, Sansa avoids his eyes. She avoids looking at him, instead studying his neck and how it tenses when he swallows and how his pulse beats. If she looks at him, if she sees the riptide in his eyes - the same intensity building in her chest mirrored back at her…

Against all her logic, Sansa looks up.

And indeed, Theon looks at her like she’s the moon and he’s the tides she controls. The fervor in his gaze… It makes her feel powerful. Even if she’s lost, and even if she’s can’t find herself, Theon has handed over the map and holds the compass. All she needs to do is ask for him to guide her.

So she does.

Sansa captures his lips - softly, at first. Because this is their first kiss and it’s new and it’s scary - because the moment she feels him kiss her back, the part of her soul longing for _everything_ escapes her and lodges itself firmly within him. His hand snakes up her back, pulling her flush against him, and she holds his face to hers, taking his breaths and his kisses and his passion.

Maybe she’s not lost. Maybe she didn’t need to be found. Maybe she was just searching for something within herself all along, and with Theon kissing her like _this_ , she’s free to find it.

They break at some point, either because they need to catch their breaths or because people are staring. But whatever it is, Sansa drags Theon back to the bar, where he throws down cash to pay for their meal, and together they escape to their motel room.

And once the door closes, she’s on him again.

Their clothes are in the way, so Sansa pulls her dress off and reaches for his shirt before Theon grabs her wrist and holds them to his chest. “Are you sure?” he asks, whispering. He’s shaking, Sansa realizes, and her insides turn cold. Did she rush this? Is this too much - did she read everything wrong and - “No, don’t do that.” Theon kisses her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. “I want this. I really, really want this.” Pulling back, he locks her gaze on hers. “Do you?”

Sansa wiggles her wrists out of his grip before stepping forward so she can rest her arms on his shoulders. “I want this, Theon. I really, _really_ want this.”

 _I want you_.

Theon nods, a smile growing on his lips. But before she can kiss him again, the smile falters just a bit. “I just - there’s a lot of - ” He swallows and Sansa kisses the corner of his mouth. She kisses his lips, nips on the lower one, as she finishes unbuttoning his shirt.

And when she looks down Theon’s body, littered with several scars - a jagged cut on his right breast, scratches on his ribcage, a spot that looks almost like a burn on his hip - all she can feel is…

“You’re beautiful,” says Sansa, her hands still roaming all the skin she can reach, but her eyes locked onto his. “You’re - ” her voice wavers because Theon’s touching her, his fingers grazing the lace of her bra, over her hardened nipple. “So - beautiful.”

Theon lets his shirt drop to the floor as he unclasps Sansa’s bra while leaving kisses on her shoulder. “That’s my line.” It’s not even a whisper, but a murmur against her skin.

Chest to chest, heart to heart, they fall back to the bed. Theon strips her of her underwear before removing his own pants and boxers. And they are both naked and Sansa has never felt safer.

Theon reaches for her; Sansa moves to kiss him, to inhale him, but Theon bypasses her lips to kiss down her body. His fingers twirl around her breasts, run down her sides leaving trails of goosebumps. Until he kneels on the floor, her legs hanging off his shoulders; until he kisses the skin inside her right thigh, then her left; until his thumbs spread her center and he looks straight at her.

Theon had equated loneliness to drowning. This had to be the opposite of that.

“You okay?” He kisses around everywhere she needs him to, and the pressure in her blood builds.

Sansa lifts her hips closer to his face. “Yes. Please make me come now.”

Laughter bursts from Theon’s lips and Sansa grins at the sight of it; the grin fades into a moan when Theon finally kisses her, lips and tongue, his teeth grazing against her too. His tongue twirls around her clit, his thumbs gentle caressing her thighs. Her skin feels hot, boiling, a fire of salt and wind - and when Theon’s finger circles her entrance, Sansa moans.

“ _Yes_ ,” she whispers. Or maybe she screams. “Please, Theon.”

One finger slips into her; glides, really, and Sansa feels the pressure building. His tongue dances - gentle and rough and rhythmic and unpredictable -  and it’s everything, but also nothing - because then another finger joins, and Theon bends them, coaxing her, caressing her, _loving_ her -

Her orgasm builds until she shakes, capturing him between her thighs, words slipping past her that she can’t make sense of. She only knows his name feels like hope leaving her lips.

Theon coaxes her through it, hands massaging her calves and lips kissing her thighs. When her breath leaves her in a deep laugh - free and relieved and so, so satisfied, Theon crawls back up the bed, straightening them so they can lie beside each other.

“Theon,” she says, her hand on his chest, unable to look away from his face. “That was - ”

“You’re beautiful,” he says. “You’re absolutely remarkable.”

Sansa kisses him quiet, so full of _something_ that she pours into him, trying to relieve the pressure building again - this time in her chest, around her heart, _in_ her heart - by giving part of herself to him. Can she give him the entire organ? It’s his anyway.

Instead of dwelling on that thought, she pushes him onto his back and straddles him. “Is this okay?” she asks, whispering into their kiss.

One hand in her hair, holding her head to his, the other slipping to caress her ass, Theon grins into her mouth. “This is definitely okay.” The hand on her ass lifts and points to a bag on the floor. “Condoms.”

Sansa retrieves one and slips it on him. His groan when her hands touch him empowers her further - she feels stronger, she feels safer, she feels _found_. And with her hands on his chest, her fingers outlining the scars that just enhance his bravery and his strength and his beauty, Sansa lowers herself onto him. She welcomes him into her body.

He’s already in her heart.

She moves slow at first. Adjusts to him. His hands - always gentle, always kind - dance across the skin of her hips and waist. Sansa lifts and lowers, circles - circles again and moans, because he feels so _good_. A sense of urgency builds, a sense of immediacy - she needs him, wants him _now_ …

When her thighs begin to tire, Theon sits up, holding her against him. Together, they thrust, meeting in the middle. Stars sparks in her eyes and she can feel Theon getting closer - his fingers dig further into her skin, his breath growing more ragged. His hand slips between them and with the rough pads of his fingers, he makes her come again, this time deeper. She feels this one somewhere in her chest, spreading from her centers. As her orgasm begins to wane, she keeps her rhythm, even as Theon’s grows more erratic - until he lets go, releases himself, holding her so closely, she wonders if he’d ever let her go.

She doesn’t really want him to.

* * *

Even after all of that - Sansa dreams of demons, of snakes, of men dressed in all black - tall with dark hair…

Men who hurt the ones she loves.

Men who hurt her.

She wakes up, tears in her eyes, Theon shaking. She’s not sure if he’s shaking for her, or for himself. But they reach for each other, Sansa wrapping herself around Theon, curled into his own chest.

Theon holds her hands to his chest and she kisses his shoulder.

Eventually, he stops shaking.

* * *

Somehow, even wrapped in each other, they wake before the sun.

The sky is still dark as they escape to the beach; Sansa smells salt and wind and ocean - and it smells just like Theon.

“You’re glowing.”

His cheeks stain pink. “What?”

“You’re glowing,” she says again, her smile growing as he looks down at his feet, covered in wet sand and foam. The tide washes over them again. “You love it here.”

“I do.” He’s quiet, thoughtful, and Sansa interlaces their fingers together.

“You ever think of moving back here?”

Theon stiffens slightly. “I can’t,” he says, which isn’t really an answer. “I have to work for my father.”

“But - ”

“Sansa.”

Sighing, Sansa watches as the tide rolls in, burying her feet in the wet sand. Her grip on his hand is tight, but she drops it. For now.

“Thank you.” Theon finally looks over to her, eyes both warm and intense. He _is_ the ocean - both peaceful and a rage, and Sansa kisses him.

* * *

They stay in their room until check-out - most of the time spent in various states of undress - before they grab lunch from a gas station. Sitting hunched together in the backseat of the car, they share smiles and kisses in between bites.

Slurping down her strawberry milkshake, Sansa leans against his shoulder. Theon tries not to get mustard in her hair.

“After, I want to meet your sister.”

Theon hides his smile in a bite of his burger. “You’d like her.”

“Would she like me?”

This time, Theon doesn’t bother hiding his smile. “Too much.”

Sansa kisses his shoulder.

* * *

“I blocked him.”

Theon turns to her. Sansa’s driving, back straight and grip tight on the steering wheel. The radio is low, an unrecognizable tune the only background to Theon’s silence.

“I hate that it’s so hard, letting go.” Her shoulders relax, slightly, and Theon resists the urge to caress her thigh. It's bare and smooth and screaming at him, but she’s driving and emotional and Theon just wants to comfort her. “But I’m doing it.”

“Good.”

A moment passes; Theon turns back to watch the road. They get closer to their destination, buildings and sights becoming more familiar.

Home.

“Will you be happy working for your father?”

Theon isn’t surprised at the question; it’s been unspoken until now, but he’s seen it written in her eyes, in the corners of her frowns. But he sighs anyway. “No. But I rather be close to you.”

Tensing again, Sansa shifts in her seat. “I don’t want you to be miserable just to be with me, Theon.” She glances sideways for a moment. “You don’t know if - it may not be worth - ”

“Even if we’re not together, I’m your friend." His voice may be harsh, but he wants her to _understand_. It’s not about him. “First and foremost, I am your friend. And I refuse to not be there for you.”

“For three more years?” Her voice is harsher too. “You’re going to be _miserable_ working for your piece of shit father for three years just to try and protect me from demons that may not even exist.”

“They exist. I saw them last night.” Theon shakes his head vigorously, his fists clenched in his lap. “I’ll be fine. I just need you.”

Sansa’s entire face tightens, her frame tight and unflinching. “That’s what I used to say about _him_.” Her glance is brief in favor of safety, but it’s no less impressive. “I won’t do that to you.”

“You’re not _doing_ anything - ”

“ _Exactly_!” she practically yells, and Theon almost reaches out to steady her - and the wheel - but Sansa pulls over instead. With the hazards blinking, just miles from their final exit, Sansa faces him straight on, face red and eyes narrowed. “You want to put your _life_ on hold for _me_ \- but I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, what I want or what I’m going to do or _anything_!” Her breath is heavy and Theon can’t speak. He doesn’t want to, not when her fears are tumbling from her lips. “You deserve someone who knows who they are, Theon! Not me. I don’t know who I am.”

Theon narrows his eyes. “You’re Sansa Stark. I’m Theon Greyjoy. And if it’s anyone who deserves better, it’s you.”

“That’s bullshit. I don’t believe you. I _can’t_ \- ” Sansa shakes her head. “This is stupid.”

She turns off the hazards and pulls back onto the road.

The rest of the drive is silent.

* * *

They arrive just before dinner.

Robb’s enthusiasm for reuniting with his sister and best friend is almost contagious; Robb’s girlfriend points it out frequently and between the two of them, the tension caught in Sansa’s gut feels minor.

At one point, after dinner and Robb’s girlfriend’s goodbyes, Robb throws an arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer on the couch. The rest of the house feels sleepy, but the living room is lit by an artificial fireplace and a lamp. “You okay?”

The automatic response - “of course” - tangles with the truth - “what is okay” - and instead: “I have no idea what I want to do with my life.” Theon’s head snaps up from where he plays with Greywind, Robb’s dog. There are many shadows in the room, but none of them hide his face. Sansa avoids his gaze and turns to Robb instead. “I still have a year before I need to declare - but I just have no _idea_ where to start.”

Robb tilts his head thoughtfully. “I don’t think I knew I wanted to get into law until I was almost done with college. I mean - ” his smile builds and Sansa wonders if she’ll ever smile like that, “I knew what I _didn’t_ want to do.”

“Business,” says Theon. His voice isn’t quite bitter, but the room feels it anyway. “You always had a soft spot for justice. Not money.”

“Business isn’t just about the money,” says Robb. “It’s about the - deception. The lies.” He shrugs and Sansa wonders if Robb knows what she does. “Too cutthroat for me.”

“Yeah, you’d never survive.” Theon inspects Greywind’s fur rather than look at them. “Not for the faint of heart.”

The silence is thick. Sansa might choke on it.

Instead, she chokes on her next sentence: “maybe if you had a good partner, someone you trusted… it can’t be that bad.”

That’s when Theon looks at her, eyes intense, flashing. She knows what he’s thinking and she almost wishes she didn’t. _I don’t trust him. He’s not my partner. He’s not good._ Sansa wants to shake him. _Trust me. Be my partner._ You _are good_.

Robb, meanwhile, grins. “Isn’t that life though? Everything's better with a good partner you trust...” There’s a glint in his eyes. “Which reminds me. I’m going ring shopping next weekend.”

And everything settles in Sansa’s chest - because this, _this_ is progress, an occasion of celebration, an _after_. “Robb!” She squeals and hugs him and laughs at his groan. “I can’t believe you waited until _now_ to tell us!”

Robb separates himself, but he’s beaming. Theon reaches over to slap his hand. “Congrats.” There’s a silent moment between them that Sansa can’t understand, but she’s okay with that. “I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for me too.” Robb stretches, a yawn escaping him. “Well, I’m beat. I’m getting old and need my beauty rest.” He kisses Sansa on the head and slaps Theon - gently - on the back. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night.”

“Night.”

And then it’s just Sansa, legs dangling off the couch, imagining a wedding and family and Theon still mindlessly petting Greywind, thoughts hidden in the growing shadows of the night.

“Theon - ” He looks up, his eyes meeting hers, and they are storming. “I trust you.”

His eyes drop to the floor and his hands fall away when Greywind wanders off to his own bed. Sansa slips to the floor, kneeling right in front of him. Her hands twist in the fabric of her dress.

“Theon - “ Again, he meets her gaze, and his eyes are still lost at sea. She hopes he understands when she voices thoughts from earlier. “You’re not the only one searching for a partner.”

Theon says nothing, frozen, his mouth caught between nothing and everything. Sansa waits - waits for him to do _something_ , say _anything_ \- but instead there is only silence.

And Sansa - her ribs shrink into her heart, bones scratching against its hopeful beats. Because Theon stares back in silence, only the flicker of lighting in his eyes.

It’s too much. It’s too little.

Sansa stands and leaves. Theon doesn’t move.

  


 

Hours later, Sansa finds him still in the living room. Now, he’s laying on the couch, legs twisted in odd angles, his arm above his face. When she closes the distance, standing above him, she notices his eyes were already open.

She pulls out her phone and a set of headphones. Placing one bud in her own ear, she offers him the other.

Again, Theon stares back in silence. But then his arm falls to his side and he swings his legs off the couch. He takes the other bud, sits it in his ear, and before she can even press play, he places his hands on her waist and pulls her close.

And Theon begins to sway.

There’s no music - he doesn’t need it, and she’s happy to let him lead. It feels like he needs to.

They don’t talk; no hellos or apologies or goodbyes.

Just her soul against his, his lips against her skin, and the steady beat of their hearts in their ears.

He rests his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. She breathes him in; he still smells like the beach, but now with a tinge of burning fire. It’s intoxicating.

But she can still breathe.

And when Theon opens his eyes, they are calmer. A lake in the summer, glittering in the sunlight surrounded by tire swings and bonfires. And Sansa can imagine it - her and him, sitting in the grass, his lips on her hair and her face buried in his shoulder.

The after.

Eventually, her movements slow and Theon pulls back. His eyes are searching for something; Sansa hopes he finds it.

She already did, in between her fingers, currently loosening their grip on his shirt.

This time, when Sansa leaves, Theon watches her go.

* * *

Theon drags his feet into the kitchen the next morning. Still in his boxers and no shirt, hair tousled and eyes crusted over, he stills when Sansa hands him a mug of coffee.

“Morning,” he says, croaking, but it doesn’t sound harsh in the quiet. “Thank you.”

Sansa smiles in response.

Theon pulls out her chair before sitting beside her, matching mugs and morning traffic loud in the distance. When he takes a steady gulp, she mirrors him.

This silence is not uncomfortable - it’s not the calm tides on a sandy beach, but it’s not a raging storm within his gut, tearing him apart. He’s suffered through those too many times - but Sansa is his lighthouse, and even sailing alone he’d find her.

“Sansa - ”

“Since when do you get out of bed before lunch?” Robb waltzes into his own kitchen covered in sweat, returning from his morning run; he wipes sweat from his face with his t-shirt. Heading straight to fridge, he pulls out a very green smoothie. “Is the world ending?”

Theon chooses to ignore Sansa’s sigh beside him. “It’s funny. I’ve learned that when I go to bed before 3am, it’s actually easier to be a morning person.”

“So you’re going to join me tomorrow morning?”

“Hell no.”

Robb chuckles to himself as he drinks his smoothie. “I’d say I missed you but that’s a lie.”

Theon rolls his eyes, turning his chair backwards to better face Robb. And maybe to lean into Sansa too, since she’s twisted sideways to watch her brother. Leaning closer to her, he mock-whispers. “He loves me.”

“He’s always had bad taste,” she mock-whispers back. Theon, amused and not at all offended, finds himself grinning at her - and she returns it.

He can’t look away, not when she’s smiling with her red hair a frame to her glowing face. She said he glowed on that beach yesterday morning - but here, in her brother’s kitchen surrounded by a piece of family, of home - here, _she_ glows.

So when Robb mumbles something about a shower, he barely hears him, because Theon can’t look away. Theon doesn’t move. But Sansa scoots her chair back, allowing him to see her, all of her.

She’s not upset - not like the first time she left last night. When she left her confession in his hands and he couldn’t take it, not yet. He refuses to drop it, though, and now - now, after holding her and knowing he can do _something_ to bring a little bit of light to her smile…

“Thank you.” Theon makes sure he doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch. “You trusting me - that’s - I needed to hear that. You make me feel like - like I can do _something_. So thank you.”

“And I don’t feel as lost anymore,” she says, scooting even further back so when she stands there’s space between them. “So thank you.”

“I didn’t do much, Sansa. You are so strong. You _will_ figure it all out - you have time. And - ” Theon shakes his head as he stands too. “You don’t need me, but I’m yours. If you’ll have me.”

Sansa steps towards him, as if she wants to jump into his arms. “I will _always_ \- “ She stops, as if frustrated. “You’re right, I don’t need you. I just _want_ you.”

His heart skips.

“What do you want?” she asks, voice small.

 _You_. “I want you to be safe,” he says instead. His feet draw closer to her. “I want to help you figure out what you want to do without having to worry.” He runs a nervous hand through his curls. “I want to be with you, even if it means sticking around the family business for a couple years.” Theon feels something click in his chest. “Three years is nothing to pay off debt - student loans would take even longer. And this way, I get to be close to you.”

“You - do you even… I don’t know if you want to come with me just to _protect_ me or to actually - do you truly even - ” The tears in her eyes stay stuck in the corners but her voice wavers and Theon’s heart cracks more, fissures aching, the light in his soul aching to reach out and tangle in hers. “I’m scared, Theon. I just don’t - I need to find _me_ , but I can’t stop you finding _you_ too. I can’t let you throw everything away just for _me_.” She softens, a wisp of hair falling into her face. His hand moves without him realizing it, placing it behind her ear, lingering right by her cheek. She slips closer, his hand resting on her skin as she leans into it, into him. “I’m happiest when I’m with you, Theon.” Her hands rest on his chest, heart beating wildly under her palms. “But I don’t want you to decide on me, decide on us - if you’re not ready. I want you to be happy too.”

And it’s that there - someone else desiring _his_ happiness that breaks the storm in his chest.

The _after_.

“You make me happy, Sansa.” His other hand rises; he holds her face, his eyes caught in hers. They are the same height so there is no tilting up or down to be level-gazed - they are even, they are equals, they are grounded together. “Somewhere in the past two days I made a decision. I didn’t realize - you make me _happy_ , Sansa, and I want that. I want to be happy. I want to laugh, I want to be so tired at the end of the day I can barely keep my eyes open from exploring and being _happy_. I want to fuck and hold you and make you fall apart in my arms over and over again because it’s _fun_. I want fun. I want to be happy. I decided on _me_.” His voice cracks. “I decided on _us_.”

A tear escapes, dripping along his fingers still on Sansa’s face. A laugh escapes her. “I think that’s the most you’ve said on this entire trip.” Her smile widens. “I think I like it.”

Her grin is smug and proud and _happy_ all at once and he knows then what it feels like to be loved.

So Theon leans in and kisses her.

He kisses Sansa, hands holding her face, running through her hair. His breaths are hers now - they likely always were; his heart beats and her hands grip his shirt and his arms. Pulling her closer, he hopes his kisses speaks the words escaping him in the moment.

_I love you I love you I love you._

Her grin into his lips answers. _I love you I love you I love you._

“So this explains a lot.”

Theon stops kissing her, because he has to in order to speak, but Sansa buries her head in his neck and he’s loathe to release her. “I’d say I’m sorry but I’m not.”

Robb rolls his eyes, grinning. “It’s more disgusting than anything. I don’t want to see this shit.”

Although her hair catches in his fingers, Sansa turns to face her brother. “Then look away.” And then she kisses Theon again and Theon grins into her lips this time and maybe Robb throws a pillow at them, but really all Theon can think about is Sansa and kissing her and how good she feels in his arms.

Until Sansa pulls away to whisper into his ear: “we’re flying on the way after the summer. I’ve always wanted to join the mile-high club.”

Theon laughs into her hair.

He likes the _after_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> On twitter as @ripsaras and tumblr as @leopoldfitz


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